Emu Crazy in Love
by TheRuggeddomContest
Summary: Edward is a simple man, living the life on his ranch. Until one day Bella, a granola-crunching PETA protester, stumbles into his life.


Rating: M for Emu violence

Genre: Humor/Romance

Word Count: 6,084

Pairing: Edward/Bella

Summary: Edward is a simple man, living the life on his ranch. Until one day Bella, a granola-crunching PETA protester, stumbles into his life.

Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

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**Emu Crazy in Love**

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Alice stares at me. Her feathery raven hair flutters in the stiff breeze. I tighten my gloved hand around the frayed rope between my fingers.

"Atta girl, Alice. Be nice and still for me."

Alice's head bobs up and down the closer I creep. Her long, majestic legs twitch. Stomping and shuffling, Alabama dust swirls up around her bare feet, momentarily blinding me.

Alice seems to notice her window of opportunity and takes it. With a loud war cry, she darts around me, squawking and screaming as I throw obscenities her way.

"Tyler, turn on Conway," I holler. "It's the only thing that calms her!"

Tyler Crowley, my partner in crime since we were knee-high to a grasshopper, stands in the doorway of my nearby ranch house. With a grin on his face, he shoves his cowboy hat off his head and ducks inside. Seconds later, "Stronger" blares from the surround sound inside the house. I slap my hand against my forehead, watching in panic as Alice begins to bob her head along with the music. Shiny, black determination floods her eyes, spearing my gut with an unspoken threat.

"I said 'Conway,' not 'Kanye,' you idiot," I yell. "Alice is getting all pumped up. Now I'll never catch her fat tail."

Tyler reappears in the doorway, snickering and grinning. I spot Alice's heated gaze as I say 'fat.' Alice's menacing low grumble makes the fleshy skin of her throat quiver. Kanye's angry voice dies away, replaced with the soothing sounds of Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty's "You're the Reason Our Kids are Ugly."

"Listen to the lyrics, Alice," I say, baiting her. "You're the reason you and Jasper's kids are so ugly."

Alice straightens to her full height. Emitting a war cry, she darts forward. Panic infiltrates my chest at her sudden onslaught of fury. Crouching with my legs shoulder width apart, I toss my lasso in the air, twirling it just the way Daddy taught me.

"You don't have to do this, Edward."

I hear Tyler's anxiety-riddled words but ignore them. Alice closes in on me, our eyes locked on one another. Arm slightly bent, I whip the lasso forward, crying out a 'Whew doggie' as the loop of rope easily wraps around her scrawny neck. I give it a taut tug and she hits the ground, her legs flailing about under her. Seizing the moment, I throw myself on top of her to wrangle her plump body to the ground.

"This is wrong, Edward. This is so wrong."

I glance up at Tyler. Humor is no longer etched across his face. He wipes the sweat from his brow and hesitantly hovers over us. Conflict wages a war in his eyes.

"Alice has to go, Ty. She's ain't puttin' out anymore. Now, you can either nut up and help me do this or stand back and watch."

"It's just…" Ty shifts on his feet; the heels of his cowboy boots dig into the dry, crumbling earth. "Jasper's gonna claw our eyes out when he finds out what we did to Alice."

"You're scared of Jasper?" I snort and tighten my hold on Alice, whose body should be weakening but ain't. Must be the joyous harmony of Loretta and Conway giving her this unbridled strength.

"Yeah. That fool is crazy," Ty says. He spits out a plug of dip he has been working on for the past hour. The wind catches a string of brown-tinged saliva and it splatters on my work shirt.

"Ugh, Ty. You ole sorry excuse for a farm hand," I say momentarily distracted from my current task. As I reach a gloved hand up to wipe the spit away, Alice takes the opportunity to declare her freedom from my loosened grip. With the rope still around her neck, she jumps up and flings me off her body. I'm sprawled flat on my back and choking on dirt. My hat lands about five feet from me.

It takes me a minute to get my bearings. "Tyler Crowley, one day I'm gonna fire ya and ain't gonna hire ya back," I say with my eyes closed. The afternoon sun is beating down on me. Alice has made her way to the other side of the fence, but her curiosity always wins out. Long and lean, she gracefully bobs and rolls her way towards my discarded hat. She turns her beady eyes towards me then pecks at my hat out of spite.

I haul myself off the ground and rush towards her, startling her in the process. She flails her neck and runs away. Alice is strutting and primping near the fence line when I finally catch up to her. I shove my cowboy hat back on my head.

"Sunday's roast… That's what you are, Alice. I'm gonna get ya." Alice rushes towards me, chasing me out of her pen. Barely looking over my shoulder, I yell, "You ain't the boss of me, Alice." I slam the gate of the chain link fencing closed. Only, the door doesn't catch and Alice comes barreling through the opening. Kicking up dirt, I run toward the house but trip over some fallen tree branches Ty was _supposed _to pick up and put in the burn pile. I spit out dirt for the second time today. He is really going to make me fire him. Some days I wonder if he is testing my patience to see if I really will do it and not take it back.

"Edward Cullen?" calls a voice that thankfully ain't Ty's. He had better make himself scarce; I've had about enough of him for one day..

"Yes," I mumble into the dirt. Shifting my hat to the back of my head, I look up to see the most beautiful lady alive. Could be seeing things because I have had a lot of head trauma for the day, but she is amazingly gorgeous. She is even wearing an emu shirt that reads: "Do you find my shirt _emu_sing?"

There is a picture of a crazy-eyed emu on the front. The pupils are even puckered for a more realistic effect. I roll over and sit up while the emu lady helps me to my feet. I glance at her shirt again and realize that the shirt ain't puckered. It's her nipples and she ain't wearing a bra… The emu is giving me crazy eyes and I can't look away.

"Good Lord, lady. Where is your brassiere?"

Emu Lady's ample cleavage presses against the bird's screen-printed face, practically daring me to touch them. She shoves her thick, black glasses up the bridge of her nose and shoots me a bleary-eyed glare.

"Stop staring at my tits, redneck," she slurs, a droplet of drool glistens on her pouty bottom lip.

_Is she… drunk?_

I toe the ground, suddenly shy. Nearly thirty years old, but I suddenly feel thirteen and unable to handle a pretty gal's drunken compliment. It's not often that I get called a redneck, but when I do my chest puffs up higher than Conway Twitty's afro.

"Thank you, ma'am." I tip my Stetson and give her my best grin, the one that makes the girls swoon.

I'm not sure if it's my redneck charm, the booze, or the Alabama heat, but something hits her hard, buckling her perfectly knobby knees. Either way, Emu Lady blinks her eyes in confusion and sways on her feet.

"If you could just put down your PETA protest sign, I'll help you inside," I say, gesturing at the wooden sign clutched in her right hand. "It's a might bit hot out today. I reckon you could go for a glass of sweet tea. Whatcha say?"

"I'm not entering your Redneck House of Horrors," she says, scrunching up her button nose.

Flattered, I blush and say, "Aw, shucks, ma'am. My house ain't _that_ fancy."

I close my eyes, momentarily imagining what our children will look like running around the ranch barefooted with their father's green eyes and mother's tiny nose. A groan and a thump pulls me from my thoughts. Glancing down, I notice my future wife, pale and unmoving, curled in a ball near my snakeskin boots.

"She dead?" Tyler materializes by my side, nudging her leg with the toe of his boot.

"Don't touch my future wife!" Appalled, I elbow my traitorous friend. I stoop down and gather Emu Lady in my arms. She's skinny, probably about a buck twenty. My heart twists inside my chest at how emaciated she is.

"Don't worry, gorgeous," I murmur, carrying her inside the house. "Ole Edward's gonna take care of you. Fatten you up. You'll be a healthy size sixteen before you know it. Maybe even an eighteen, if we're lucky."

The thought of her thick and curvy causes me to grow hard. My erection pokes against her with each step I take. Carefully, I lay her on the couch and push the loose strands of hair from her face.

I find Tyler in the kitchen sucking down a beer. Foam coats his upper lip and he wipes it away with the back of his hand.

"Is that chick not wearing a brassiere?"

"Back off, man." I growl, open the fridge, and remove a gallon pitcher of sweet tea. Tyler always makes it too weak, only adding a cup and a half of sugar per gallon. I grab the measuring cup and toss another couple of cups in just for kicks.

_Might as well start fattening her up now._

Tyler tosses the empty beer bottle in the trash. "Who is she, man?"

"Must be one of those granola-crunching hippies," I say. "She was carrying a PETA sign. Dang protesters."

Tyler grins. "Protester or not, she's got a killer rack."

Maybe Tyler should have considered how close he was standing to me before he started talking about my woman. I punch him in the junk.

Ty drops to the floor cupping himself. He rolls around moaning something about his pecker and needing it later. Stepping over him, I go to the fridge to get some ice out of the freezer. The only way to make cold sweet tea better is by making it colder.

My lady love stirs on the couch. I've to get back to her before she wakes up. What kind of man would I be to let her wake up alone in a strange house?

I set down the mason jar filled with sweet tea and take a seat on the edge of the couch beside Granola Girl's hip. She is so peaceful when she sleeps. Taking her glasses off, I turn them around and look at them. They are ugly with their thick black frames and almost as big as her face. I put them on wondering how bad her vision is.

"Holy moly," I shout as I snatch them off my face and accidentally toss them on the floor. This woman has to be legally blind. My eyes cross and uncross as they struggle to focus.

Her hair is tangled, and I wonder how often she actually brushes it. I lean down and sniff her—she must bathe because she doesn't smell. Her beauty is something else, even if she looks a little unkempt and malnourished.

Along with her emu shirt, she is wearing extremely short khakis. Long, gangly legs are stretched out across the couch. She'll be thanking me for bringing her inside, once she's conscious of course. The summer sun has blistered her once- pale skin which now rivals the color of Mama's cherry pie.

_Mmmm. Pie._

Which reminds me I need to call Mama to tell her about her future daughter-in-law.

As I rise to my feet. Granola Girl's eyelids flutter as she stirs again and mumbles in her sleep. Leaning over, I try to get closer to hear what she is saying…

"Wooo-weee, lady. Yo breath is funky, little girl. What in the world you been chewing on? a hog's foot?"

Her eyes pop open in terror. "Oh. Em. Gee. I'm so totally blind right now. What did you do to me you stupid redneck?" She jerks her head up. Connecting with my nose, the headbutt knocks me to the floor. In all the excitement, she's rolled off the couch and onto my lap. She pats the floor beside us and squints her eyes. Reckon she is searching for her glasses, but the only thing she succeeds at is giving me an erection from all the wiggling she is doing.

"Ma'am, can you please halt your actions?"

"What? Why?" she says as she squints in the direction of what she probably assumes is my face. It's actually a brass spittoon sitting on the coffee table beside us.

What can I say? Mama majored in interior design in college and my house _reeks_ class.

"Over here, Granola Girl." I grab her hips to still her and she wiggles once more. The look of utter terror tells me she's realized what she's actually in contact with.

"That isn't your leg!" she yells. "Mary, mother of pearl. I just touched your penis."

I pick her up and place her back on the couch. She scrambles into a sitting position and gives me a squinty-eyed glare.

I throw my hands up in exasperation. "Woman, what is wrong with you?"

Her eyelids flutter and her gaze darts around the room. Incoherent words roll off her tongue. I think she is about to pass out on me again, so I place her glasses in her hand and shove the jar of sweet tea under her nose.

Granola Girl shoves her glasses on her face and frowns at the jar. "Oh no. I'm not drinking that. The last time I drank anything out of one of those kinds of cups I passed out and woke up on your couch."

_Hold up._

"Do what? When did you drink something? Was it before you got here?" Clearly I'm too slow to understand her city slicker mumbo jumbo or she just ain't making no sense. I go with the second option.

She huffs in indignation. "I went to a bar to work up my nerve to come out here. I asked for something strong. The dude behind the bar poured a clear liquid from one of those kinds of cups into a shot glass and gave it to me. I'm not drinking anything else in this stupid hick town."

Swallowing thickly, her eyes flutter closed, giving the effect she is going to swoon.

Instead, her eyes pop back open and she violently vomits on me. Thanks to the spidey senses I've been honing since fifth grade, I jump out of the way and press my back against the living room wall, leaving my spiffy duds virtually vomit-free. There's a little throw-up on the Wranglers I'm wearing, but they're Ty's jeans, not mine.

I stole them from his bedroom because they make my thighs look more slender.

Speaking of Tyler, he stumbles into the room, clutching his most prized possession in his hands.

"You think you've been cupping yourself long enough now?" I ask, smoothing the wrinkles from my slenderizing jeans. "I'm beginning to think you ain't really hurt. You just like playing with yourself."

"You junk punched me, you S.O.B." Tyler palms his package and wrinkles his nose. "Smells like a bucket of fish guts in here. What's that smell?"

"A bucket of fish guts."

Tyler raises his eyebrows, a glint of hope shines in his eyes. "Supper?"

"Someone liquored up your future sister-in-law." I nod toward the couch where Granola Girl is now passed out. "She's done made a mess on herself."

"Sister-in-law? Me and you ain't no kin." Tyler stands a little straighter, no longer playing with his pecker.

"We're all kin down here. Now, quit flappin' your jaws and help me carry her to the shower. I need to wash the stank off her."

"You gonna get her naked?" Hope springs back to life in his eyes.

"Stop yammering and grab her feet, Ty."

Tyler grumbles but does what I say. Taking a deep breath, I hook my arms under hers as he hoists up her lower half. Despite my Justin's fitting like a glove, I stumble over my feet. I somehow manage to get her down the hallway and into the bathroom. Placing her inside the tub turns out to be more difficult than I imagined. We hit her head twice on the vanity and once on the toilet before dumping—er, _delicately laying her_ inside the tub.

"Hey, wake up," I say, shaking her shoulder. Thankfully, there's no vomit on her upper half. Most of it landed on her lap, splattering down the front of her khaki shorts.

"So, you gonna get her naked?" Ty grins and pulls a can of Skoal out of his back pocket. He twists off the top and pulls a plug of the tobacco from the can. I swear, he looks like he's got a golf ball between his teeth and bottom lip. Apparently, Ty's not the only one who wants to see my woman naked. Jasper pecks at the bathroom window, his big eyes staring at Granola Girl.

"Jasper, I thought you's a one-woman man. Get out of here," I holler. Jasper squawks and pecks the glass one last time before he lopes away.

"Jasper's always watching me," Ty whispers with a shudder. He stares through the glass at Jasper's retreating form. "When I'm plowing, cleaning the barn… even when I take a bath. He's always there."

"The dude's a total stalker," I say, frowning. "I reckon Bella's gonna have to take a bath in her clothes. It ain't gentlemanly of me to strip her down before our wedding night."

"Bella? How do you know her name is Bella?"

"Because it says so right on her—what this heck is this?"

I pick up the offending bag that fell on our trek to the bathroom. The thing has all these ropes tied together into one strap, but it looks like a backpack of some sort. There are flowers all over it and there is a tag sewn in that says _Kavu_. Beats the heck out of me. All I know is it has _Bella_ in bright yellow lettering on a pocket flap on the front of the bag.

"I'm assuming Bella is her name since it's written here on her bag."

"You don't think she stole it do ya?" Ty asks as he tilts his cowboy hat backwards and scratches the top of his head.

Might not be right to go through a lady's bag, but I'm curious as to what someone from PETA could be carrying.

Slowly, I unzip the bag. A ton of granola bars fall out onto the floor. Figures.

Ty snorts, "Reckon it's hers. No one down here would carry that many granola bars on them. Open my mama's purse and all you'll find are old receipts, chewing tobacco, and a gun." He tips an empty Dr. Pepper bottle to his lips and spits.

Curiosity killed the cat, and I know I will, hopefully, live to regret this later, but I open one of the granola bars anyways. They smell like fish. Touching the bar to the tip of my tongue I lick it slightly. Not too bad, so I take a bite out of it.

_Worst mistake of my life._

I turn toward the toilet to wretch. No wonder she's so dern skinny.

"People against penning," Tyler says. I glance up from the porcelain god to find Tyler reading from a pamphlet. "This was in her bag. Reckon this gal came here with the intentions of freeing the farm animals."

Poor gal. She's been misinformed of the benefits of emu ranching and probably views me as some sort of monster. I'm going to fix all this, but first I got to call Mama. Patting my breast pocket, I come up short of finding my phone, so I dig in my Wranglers for it.

My fingers settle on the cool metal of my Motorola Razr. Snazzy phone.

Mama is speed dial number two because number one is reserved for 911.

The phone only has a chance to ring once. I swear that woman sits by her house phone waiting on the town gossip to call and give her a bunch of juicy news.

Her voice is high pitched, which makes me think of cotton candy—if cotton candy could talk.

"Hey, Mama."

"Oh, it's you."

Sighing, I respond, "Glad to talk to you too, _Mother_."

"Now, Edward, don't get your knickers in a twist. It's only that I was expecting Martha to phone."

"Well… I've something important to show you. Can you come over?"

"What for, baby? I'm making a cherry pie."

"It's kinda important that you come over now… MYFUTUREWIFEISKINDOFPASSEDOUTINTHETUBRIGHTNOW," I blurt out.

All I hear on her end is a high-pitched squeal and a thump.

"Mama?"

…

"Mama?"

…

"MAMA! GEORGE STRAIT HAS AGREED TO YOUR MOST RECENT MARRIAGE PROPOSAL," I shout into the receiver.

"Finally," she wails in my ear while sobbing. "I've gotta go darlin'. George is waiting on me," she says to me through what I assume are tears of joy.

"No, Mama. George really didn't respond. I was just trying to get your attention. Can you please come over?"

"Edward Cullen, you act like you ain't had no home trainin'. How dare you joke about my precious George?" She inhales a deep breath. "Okay, okay. Quit your whinin'. I'll finish the pie over at your house. Let me call Martha first."

"No, Mama." If she calls Martha she won't make it to my house until tomorrow.

"Well, I've never… I didn't raise you to be such a rude man, Edward Anthony. Please make sure you put that crazy-eyed beast away before I get there."

Oh Lord, she's done pulled out the middle name. I must be in a whole heap of trouble.

"Okay, Mama. I'll make sure Tyler is out of sight by the time you get here."

She huffs loudly in my ear and then hangs up on me.

"I love you, too," I shout at the dial tone.

Mama shows up at my door twenty minutes later. Instead of knocking, she breezes through the doorway. A monogrammed bag hangs from her shoulder, shiny spray bottles of hair products protrude from the unzipped bag. The top of her bleached, I mean, _highlighted_ and teased do hits the top of the door frame as she lets herself in. Walking in wearing spiked heels and an embarrassingly tight dress, she looks like Miss Alabama herself. She smiles and heads for the kitchen, shoving an uncooked pie in my hands.

"Be a dear and throw that in the oven for me," she says, absently patting her updo. She stares at her reflection in the gleam of the silver fridge. The entire column of hair on her head moves with the touch of her hand. "Where is my future daughter-in-law?"

"Still passed out in the tub." I turn on the oven and read the cooking directions for the pie, which are scribbled on a scrap of paper taped to the tin foil covering said dessert. "She's as drunk as a skunk."

"Let Mama take care of everything," she coos. Mama pats my scruffy cheek before leaving the kitchen.

Tyler's hiding between the counter and the fridge like the wuss he is, emerging only once Mama's clicking heels fade into the distance. I toss a kitchen towel in his face and tell him to wipe the drool from his mouth.

"Don't you sass me, boy," he says. "I'm gonna be your Pa one day."

"Riiiiight," I say. "I've got a better chance of winning the Emu Olympics than you have of making an honest woman out of my mama."

"You still training?" Ty asks, grabbing another beer from the fridge. Hell, he's done had a sixer today. I guess Mama makes him nervous. He's sweating like a pig in heat and his hands are shaking like a crackhead. Foam mixed with tobacco spit spills from his lips. Mama's got a real winner on her hands here.

"Hard to train when Jasper's stuck up Alice's rear begging for her unrequited attention twenty-four seven. I swear, she's gonna make a fine meal at my wedding reception."

Time slips by and the pie is finished before I know it. I grab an oven mitt to remove it from the oven. The scent of cherries fills the room. I set the pie on the counter and wonder if my future wife enjoys sweets. Probably not since she had all those sticks and twigs, I mean _granola bars_, in her purse. Mama hasn't returned to the room and I haven't heard a peep out of her or Granola Girl. I lumber to the bathroom and discover the tub is empty. I find Mama perched on the edge of my bed with Emu Lady's head in her lap. Mama's got a teasing comb and a bottle of hairspray, attacking my bride's poor head. The girl remains unconscious but is now moaning and mumbling something about tight Wranglers and psychotic men. I take my hat off and scratch my head, wondering what she could be talking about.

"Mama, whatcha doing?"

"Preparing her for the wedding." She sighs and lovingly pats Emu Lady's cheek. "She's beautiful, Ed. What's her name?"

"Says 'Bella' on her monogrammed bag."

"Monogrammed bag." Mama lets out an earsplitting squeal. I cup my hands over my ears to muffle the sound. "Beautiful and stylish! Well, aside from these horrid clothes. I see her in something coral… A ruffled wrap dress. Yes, that's it. A ruffled wrap dress and white sandals. We'll have to get her a pedicure. If her toenails look half as bad as her fingernails—what is she, a tree climber?"

"Worse, I'm afraid. She's a vegetarian." I sigh and return my hat to my head. "We didn't have time to exchange pleasantries. All I know is when I saw those big, brown eyes magnified by those Coke-bottle glasses I knew she was the one for me."

"Well, ain't that just the sweetest thing I've ever heard?" Mama asks me through tears. Using the hanky she keeps in her brassiere, Ma dabs her eyes. The delicate pink flowers and monogrammed "E" Mama probably hand-stitched onto the white fabric darkens from her captured tears.

Mama blows her nose into the handkerchief, then motions for me to come closer. I oblige, and she shoves the snotty rag into my shirt pocket, patting it for good measure.

"Be a dear and wash that out for me." I look at her in shock, but all she does is shoo me away. "Git on, leave me be with my future daughter-in-law. Martha is bringing a casserole. Go clean yourself up."

As I close the door I hear her whisper into my future bride's ear, "You are now a Republican. You like red meat. You think North is a stupid name for a baby."

I turn around to scowl at my mother. She shrugs and methodically braids Bella's hair. Just now, I notice small white flowers at the side of the bed, I assume are to put in Bella's hair.

Martha comes by not too long after carrying a brown Pyrex dish. "Ahhhh," I yell. That woman has potholders, but shoves the hot dish into my bare hands. She scurries off to my bedroom before I can even holler at her.

I set the dish on the steps and unbutton my shirt to use as pseudo pot holders and take our dinner into the house.

Ty is sitting at the table grinning at me like a fool. He takes off his hat and twirls it in the air.

"Ooh-wee, make it rain, Boss. Let me get out my wallet." He tilts back on two legs of his chair and pretends to tweak his nipples. When I get close enough, I shove the underside of the seat and he goes falling backwards.

"Get up, you sorry old drunk. Eat some of this casserole Martha left. Maybe it'll sober you up," I say, eating my own dinner. We finish in quiet.

Well… Mostly quiet. All the sound effects from Ty are starting to make me uncomfortable. More than likely, he is imagining my mother is his dinner. Things are going downhill fast.

Having heard enough, I leave and tell Ty to find me after he finishes his meal.

I haven't been piddling in the yard long before the screen door slamming and Mama's loud throat clearing draws my attention to the front porch.

The prettiest thing I've ever seen steps onto the porch beside my mother. Granola Girl is scrubbed free of all the vomit and dirt. Where Mama got that ruffly coral dress and white sandals from, I will never know. She did stay true to her word, though.

Bella's hair is almost as high as Mama's. It falls over her shoulder in a large, untidy braid. Little white flowers are tucked all throughout it. A bouquet of daffodils are clutched in her hands.

She runs down the steps and hurls her tiny body at me so fast that I don't even have time to brace myself for the impact.

I hit the dirt for the third time today, but this is the only way I ever wish to fall again. Granola Girl gives a girly giggle and pushes her glasses up her nose. I'm not exactly sure when she went from hating me to loving me, but hey, I'm not gonna question it. My heart swells up with pride knowing I'm about to marry the prettiest, future emu wrangler in the South.

And that's saying a lot because there's like … ten other emu wranglers in the world besides her and five of them live in the South.

Bella blinks unsteadily. "Sorry. I just wanted to come out here and tell you I missed you."

"Is that all you wanted to tell me, Sugar?" I ask as I brush the braid behind her back.

"Naw, I think Ronald Reagan is the best president ever," she exclaims before she plants a kiss squarely on my lips.

Ty exits the house just as I'm considering second base. Shouting, he throws his hat in the air. "Yee haw! Winner winner, Emu dinner. Get some good granola lovin', Boss."

Bella licks her lips. "Mmmm, why is my mouth watering at the thought of granola, Edward?"

Before I can answer her, Mama's in my face waving around my old bulky Polaroid camera. Martha stands behind her looking slightly constipated, which is the most emotion I've seen on that woman's face since Clinton was elected.

"Picture time!" Mama squeals. "Reverend Cheney is on his way to perform the ceremony." She pats Bella lovingly on her bouffant. "Remember what I told you?" Mama's eyes get a little crazy for a second. I shudder, remembering that look well.

Crazy old bat.

"I'm in love with Edward Cullen," Granola Girl says, her voice trance-like. "I'm a Republican and I love red meat."

"And who should run for president next term?" Ma asks, narrowing her eyes.

"The great Ted Nugent." Bella drools a little and I wipe it away with the back of my hand.

"Good girl," Mama says. She turns and hollers, "Hit the music, Ty."

"Stranglehold" blares from the speakers and the animals go wild. Usually we reserve seventies' music to seventies _night_, which is every Monday through Thursday, so the animals are in for a treat today. It's like a zoo around here when we play Ted Nugent.

Literally a zoo.

"Who is Ted Nugent again?" Bella asks, causing Mama's eyes to go wild. "What's going on?"

"Shhh… you're getting married." I stroke her cheek and whisper in her ear. "Just let it happen."

Bella babbles incoherently and I listen intently, trying to understand her gibberish. The rumble of a truck tossing up gravel and dirt down my dusty drive makes it impossible, though. Reverend Cheney rolls out of his jacked-up pickup truck, his portly belly hanging over his britches. Mr. Cheney's gangly teenage son, Ben, climbs out of the passenger side of the truck and joins his father. They're both sporting pit stains and smell of fried chicken.

"This better be good to interrupt my Sunday dinner," Mr. Cheney says, wiping his brow with a soggy hanky.

"Reverend, I'd like you to meet my future missus," I say. Bella offers her hand and he gives it a firm shake, jiggling her skinny body.

"Bella Swan." Bella removes her hand from his sweaty paw and wipes it on her coral dress. Mama gasps and fans her face at the sight of the stain near her thigh.

"Swan? Your last name is Swan? That's an admirable bird." I grin at my woman, knowing this must be a sign from the Almighty. "And a right purdy bird too. Much more purdy than an emu."

An ungodly sound erupts from the emu pen. The dang-blasted door is still open and the emus are going crazy. Alice still has the rope tied around her neck and it has somehow become wound around a nearby fence post. Maria, a scrappy little emu I bought while vacationing in el Mexico, comes strutting out of the pen, obviously offended by my insulting emu comment. I bought Maria to breed with Jasper, but Alice has him so whipped he won't even look in Maria's direction.

Until now.

Jasper lets out a squawk and chases Maria out of the pen, quick on her heels. Maria has her eyes set on Alice, who screams in protest. At the last minute, Maria does a 180 and darts toward our group, her beady eyes landing on my woman. Panic builds inside my chest. I throw myself in front of Bella, but it's too late. Maria furiously pecks at the flowers in Bella's hands. Yellow blossoms go flying. Bella hollers like a cat in heat and I get dizzy for a second, slightly turned on by the sound. That is until Maria turns and bats Bella with her big emu tail. Bella hits the ground, feathers drifting around her. Mama consoles my bride while I dart after Maria, who's still struggling to dodge Jasper. Maria hops on Alice's back and screams the emu mating cry.

I stop dead in my tracks, Ty by my side.

"Well, I'll be danged. No wonder Maria and Jasper won't breed." Ty laughs.

"This just won't do," I mutter, shaking my head.

"Equal rights for all birds," Bella hollers. I turn around in time to see her climb to her feet. She dusts her dress off and spits out dirt. Glancing around the ranch, she scratches her head. "What's going on here?"

I reckon Maria knocking Bella to the ground might have jarred her memory a little. "Me and you's about to get married."

"Oh," she says. She glances at the ground and picks up the green, flowerless daffodil stems. "Okay."

Or maybe not.

"Can we get on with the ceremony?" Mr. Cheney asks, pulling a Bible from under his sweaty armpit. "Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today…"

The preacher man's voice drones on, but grows fuzzy and distant in my mind. All I see is my lady, grit between her grinning teeth as she beams at me. I wrap one arm around her, wishing I hadn't used my shirt as a potholder for Martha's Pyrex dish. This Alabama sun is right hot and I'm a little underdressed for a wedding.

"I love emu," I say, poking her in her skinny ribs. "Get it? I love _emu_."

"Aw, I love _emu_, too," she whispers, bunching her brow. "Wait, do I?"

"Oh, yeah, emu do."

"Emu do!" she hollers.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," Mr. Cheney bellows. "Emu kiss the bride!"

* * *

Happily Emu After?

* * *

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